


give no quarter

by rain_sleet_snow



Category: Primeval
Genre: (if you knew the UK in the 00s none of it will surprise you - background only), Angst and Humor, Battle Couple, Don't Get Mad Get Even, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Homophobia, Politics, Prank Wars, Privilege, Swearing, Team Dynamics, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 03:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18111998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: The one thing you do not do - absolutelydo not do- in any office environment is piss off the administrative staff.You especially shouldn't do it if the office is the ARC, the administrator is Lorraine Wickes, and you're a dickhead.





	give no quarter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fredbassett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/gifts).



> Happy birthday to Fred! Thanks to Luka for the beta. :)

The first thing the military contingent knew about the Defence Minister's special advisor - wet behind the ears, convinced his Durham degree, brief brush with the OTC, and four years' experience in Whitehall made him an authority to be reckoned with, and most importantly wished on them for a week-long 'fact finding mission' - was that he didn't read the instructions and wouldn't listen to common sense.

  
  
"He can't get into the car park because he hasn't got a fucking _badge_ ," Major Ryan said. "He hasn't got a badge because he hasn't been fucking verified up top. I know the little shit was told this." Ryan drummed his fingers irritably on his desk. "How many cars are stuck waiting to get in because of this?"

  
  
"Three," said Finn, who had become unaccountably thick and deaf to spoken English on being ordered to 'raise the bastard barrier, trooper' by a shiny-faced kid in a polyester suit.

  
  
"Any of them got Sir James in?"

  
Finn shook his head. "But Abby's Mini is the next car back and Quinn’s down there on his bike."

  
  
Ryan levered himself out of his chair and hurried down to the car park as fast as he could.

  
  
He found a blockage of five cars and Quinn’s motorbike, Abby climbing into a strange car and slamming the door shut, and Connor sliding behind the wheel of the Mini. An unfamiliar figure was retreating at speed towards the main road, under the interested stares of ARC staff. Abby was extremely red in the face, but when Ryan tapped on the window she rolled it down.

  
  
"Everything all right?" he said.

  
  
"No," Abby said. 'Is it true we have to put up with that wanker for an entire week?"

  
  
""Fraid so, unless Lester decides to kick him out."

  
  
"Augh," Abby said. Ryan agreed entirely. "Well, I sent him off to get his stupid badge, and I'll park his stupid car for him."

  
  
"Try not to lose the keys," Ryan suggested.

  
  
"Lose them?" Abby said, smiling cherubically. "Oh, no. I was going to drop them by Lester’s office. Since I don't know where to find him."

  
  
Ryan thought about Lester’s likely reaction to being obliged to return a SpAd's keys, and where he would definitely lay the blame, and stifled a snort. "Right, Abby. Have a nice day."

  
  
He stepped aside and waved the cars in. He had this funny feeling that it was not going to be a nice day.

  
  
***

  
  
"So you're a civilian contractor," said the SpAd to Stephen Hart, who stared at him. "A zoologist. But you handle a gun. Are you sure you have the right expertise?"

  
  
Ditzy stepped behind a rack of guns in the armoury and clapped a hand over his mouth to stop a snort escaping. He saw Lorraine, who was supposed to be giving the SpAd - what the fuck was his name, Thistle-something? - a tour of the building, close her eyes and breathe deeply. She looked like she regretted making everyone swear to be polite to the idiot.

  
  
"I said," Thistle-something repeated, a little more loudly, "Are you sure -"

  
  
Hart hoisted a rifle case about half the size of the SpAd onto the table. It landed with a decisive thump. "I prefer a tranquiliser rifle," he said, quietly but definitely. "A lot more people can fire a bullet than can calculate a dosage. It's a specialist skill. Too little, and you might get killed. Too much, and you might kill."

  
  
Ditzy bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and wished he could see the SpAd's face.

  
  
Hart began to unclip the case, ignoring What's-his-name so loudly that the other man's veneer of confidence cracked. Once open, he picked up the rifle and sighted down it briefly, still ignoring the newcomer, who was beginning to look disconcerted.

  
  
Lorraine raised her voice. "I think we'd better be moving on," she said.

 

***  
  
  
The visitor had been set up with a temporary desk in a corner of Jenny and Lorraine's already crowded office, allegedly so he could get a real ground-floor view of the organisation. In practice this meant that Jenny had banned phone calls in the room by the end of the day, except for Lorraine's calls for Lester.  
  
"He's so loud," Jenny hissed to Becker, furiously making coffee in the rec room. "And he makes it so obvious he's talking about us to his minister. If the minister is on the end of the phone, which I doubt."  
  
"Mm," Becker said, counting the mugs on the kitchen side. "No coffee for him?"  
  
"He keeps looking down my top! And he's pretending he's forgotten Abby's name - he keeps calling her the girl with the eyeliner."  
  
"What a dickhead," Becker said, accurately surmising that Abby's attempt to get the newcomer in the shit with Lester and lose his car in the car park had been wildly successful. Ross had watched Mr Theo Misselthwaite wander the car park for a full half and hour searching for his plastic-looking little Fiat, and no-one had been at all sympathetic. Especially not Becker, who had had the misfortune of attending school alongside Misselthwaite, and had hoped to have put the bastard behind him along with the rest of his former life.  
  
"If we have to take him on a shout," Jenny said, pointing a teaspoon at Becker menacingly, "I will scream."  
  
"Why do that when you could push him into the path of an oncoming dinosaur?" Becker said soothingly, passing the milk.  
  
Jenny's eyes narrowed, and she shook the teaspoon. "That's the fine tactical thinking that got you through Sandhurst, isn't it?"  
  
"Revenge is best served cold," Becker said, taking the teaspoon away before any further damage could be done.  
  
"I'll bear that in mind," Jenny said, and took her two lonely mugs of coffee back to an office now housing three people.

 

***  
  
  
Tuesday evening found Becker, Blade, Lyle and Finn sitting around playing cards in Avebury as night fell and an anomaly stubbornly refused either to leave or to stay open for more than thirty seconds at a go. Fortunately, it was on the opposite side of a steep bank to the village, and the locals were used to funny business inflicted either by the military or various New Age practitioners. Equally fortunately, there was a good pub in the middle of the village. Becker had sent Abby and Connor over there with Ross to eat something before the rumbling of Connor's stomach got any louder.

  
"So this fuckwit," Lyle said. "Thistle. What the hell is his name, actually?"

  
  
"Theo Misselthwaite," Becker said.

  
  
"You're kidding me," Lyle said, and then, after an appropriate pause, "you know him?"

  
  
"Nope," Becker said, playing his cards. "Got stuck with him as a classmate at secondary school. He called me a poof and I shoved his head down a toilet. Haven't spoken to him since."

  
  
There was a soft ripple of amusement. Becker smiled at his hand of cards.

  
  
"He always thinks he's the big man. Unless he's changed since school, and it doesn't look like it."

  
  
"I think Temple's going to electrocute him if he carries on being a dick to Abby," Finn volunteered.

  
  
"Yeah," Blade said, "but how would you know - Temple electrocutes things all the time by accident if nobody stops him."

  
  
"Great cover for a murder attempt," Finn said optimistically. Connor was a brilliant inventor, but he really knew more about software than hardware, and inventing things meant he was learning a lot of electrical engineering on the fly. Still, he was soft-hearted at bottom. Becker personally thought that a greater threat would be Cutter actually waking up to the presence of Misselthwaite in their midst; he was naturally oblivious, and had missed every opportunity to interact with the SpAd thus far, but there was no way he'd tolerate the man's brand of bullshit once he'd noticed it.

  
  
Lyle set a card down, and Blade swore mildly.

  
"Lester hates him," Lyle said. "He interrupts everyone but Lester, and when he talks to Lester he's oily. Yes, Sir James. No, Sir James. Whatever you say, Sir James. But always laughing up his sleeve."

  
  
Becker hissed between his teeth. "Stupid." He tapped his cards on his knee, and watched Finn try to salvage what he'd already guessed was a very poor hand. "Jenny can't stand him either. So he's pretty much doomed."

  
  
"But they won't get rid of him," Lyle said. "They want to keep on the good side of this new minister. If they can. And Misselthwaite's stuck to him like a louse." Lyle rested his chin on his fist. "Hey, Blade - what does Miss Wickes say?"

  
  
Blade ran his thumb over the edge of his hand of cards, making them click softly as they flicked into each other.  
  
"Nothing," Blade said, and smiled unsettlingly. "Yet."

  
  
The anomaly flickered out and stayed that way.

 

***

 

Everything went completely to shit, in Lester’s highly qualified opinion, on Wednesday morning. He was not privileged to hear what the ubiquitous Theo Misselthwaite said to Lorraine - he was down in the atrium, peering over Connor Temple’s shoulder and trying to make sense of the readouts on the anomaly detector - but he heard her response, clear as a bell and cool as iced water. 

 

“Are you questioning my expertise, Mr Misselthwaite?”

 

Connor stopped even pretending to fidget with the detector. 

 

“Well, intelligence is not really in your expertise, is it, Lorraine?” said Misselthwaite, in a voice which carried throughout the atrium. No doubt responding to the froideur in Lorraine’s tone, he’d upped the volume, and now sounded arrogant, like he was trying to assert his authority over her. “You’re a PA.”

 

A dead silence fell. Over the sound of his own heart thundering with anger, Lester could hear Jenny carefully not yelling, and various ARC staff holding their breath.

 

“As you say, Mr Misselthwaite,” Lorraine said.   

 

Lester shut his eyes briefly. All hope of returning Theo Misselthwaite to his minister in one piece at the end of Friday had just been extinguished. Lester would see to it himself, if necessary - although he was sure he would be at the back of a very long queue.

 

Footsteps echoed. A door closed. Normal sound returned to the ARC’s atrium. Lester opened his eyes, and found Connor staring at him.

 

“Holy shit,” Connor whispered.

 

“Indeed,” Lester said.

  
“She’s going to _kill_ him. Or _Blade’s_ going to kill him. Oh my God.”

 

“Miss Wickes won’t let that happen,” Lester said reassuringly. “Otherwise, how would he know she’d won?”

 

*** 

 

By Wednesday lunchtime, Theo Misselthwaite had somehow become locked out of his laptop, and found that he was the lowest priority on IT’s list of woes and grievances. He cursed and sulked, trying to pretend he was important, and went downstairs to drag Connor Temple away from the anomaly detector to fix the offending laptop, “as a favour”.

 

Connor, who hadn’t forgotten what he’d seen from the passenger seat of Abby’s Mini on Monday morning, declined. Misselthwaite threatened him with Lester.

 

Connor, accent turning to deepest Lancashire, and expression turning to one of bulldog-like stubbornness, said he was fully occupied and didn’t have anything to do with IT support, anyway.

 

“You fixed Jenny’s tablet yesterday!” Theo snapped.

 

“That was important,” Connor said, and added, while Theo was still gasping like a fish, “and she asked nicely, yeah?”

 

“Do you know what kind of shit I can get you into?” Theo hissed, trying to loom over Connor.

  
Connor adjusted the angle of his hat. “Do you know what a pack of charging velociraptors looks like?”

 

Theo stared at him, apparently boggled.

 

“Weirdly feathery,” Connor said helpfully, “loads of teeth. Human-sized. Kind of speedy, too.” He smiled beatifically at Theo. “IT are busy. They’ll get to you when they can.”

 

Theo stormed off.

 

Connor high-fived himself, and sent a message to the group chat labelled Computer Nerds Support Group, describing the incident in less than flattering terms. Jess Parker, who was supposed to be working on the computer modelling version of Professor Cutter and Dr Page’s weirdo pool-noodle time-nexus confection, sent a cheery little reply saying she’d get to him in just a minute.

 

Connor hastily typed that there was definitely no need to hurry, and surely Professor Cutter needed her?

 

Jess explained that Professor Cutter and Dr Page had gone in search of inspirational coffee, and _besides, miss wickes asked me to look after him :)_

 

Connor, who had ill-advisedly picked up his mug in the meantime, sneezed lukewarm tea.

 

 _Lol cool then_ , he wrote back, and did not put his headphones back on, the better to hear whatever was going to happen next.

 

Ten minutes later, Jess Parker trotted adorably past in knee-length blue chiffon, an oversized snowy white woolly jumper, and a pair of brutally high and heavily studded sharp-heeled red ankle boots. She left the door to the office wide open when she went in to help Theo Misselthwaite with his computer, which was how everyone heard her chirp her way delightfully through the first half of her troubleshooting, and then, about ten minutes later, heard her tone turn to school-teacherly admonishment. She had a very piercing voice.

 

Connor yanked a scarf up to his face and clapped a hand over the fabric to stop himself howling out loud. After a few more minutes, Jenny hurried down into the atrium, violently pink with suppressed laughter, and uttered a strangled “Tea?” in Connor’s direction.

 

“Uh, yes please,” Connor said, equally strangled.

 

Up above, it took fifteen minutes to stop Jess Parker lecturing Theo Misselthwaite about the evils of internet porn, and the inadvisability of clicking on unexpected and clearly dubious pop-ups.

 

Every single person who worked in the ARC knew exactly what had happened by close of business. Miss Wickes had a brief meeting with the head of IT, Connor, and Jess about it, all of them admirably po-faced, and wrote a simple, straightforward email that was in no way directed at anyone about the importance of keeping work hardware for strictly work purposes. Since Major Ryan and Dr Page were currently duking it out for the top position on the office Bejewelled leaderboard, nobody needed to be particularly bright to know she didn’t mean Facebook or Twitter. And absolutely everyone knew who she was talking about.

 

Connor and Abby walked past Theo Misselthwaite, seething and sullen, on the way to the car park that evening. They made the mistake of catching each other’s eye.

 

Connor didn’t care whether or not they were out of earshot by the time they started laughing.

 

“Blade’s going to do him in if we don’t get rid of the moron soon,” Abby predicted, climbing into the car.

 

“Nahhh,” Connor said. “Miss Wickes is having so much fun. He’s not going to spoil that.”

 

***

 

Thursday, in Lester’s considered opinion, did not bode well. For one thing, it started with a nine a.m. general meeting that Theo Misselthwaite was bound to attend, and a solid ninety percent of the people in that room would be dying to see what would be inflicted on him next. Lester had zero objections to Misselthwaite’s suffering, but he would have liked some plausible deniability.

 

Lorraine, however, didn’t seem to be in the mood to give him any. Lester found her in the kitchen preparing coffee and tea for the meeting, plating up biscuits, and organising teaspoons.

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Lester pointed out.

 

“I’m aware,” Lorraine said serenely. “It’s soothing.”

 

She upended an entire salt shaker into one of the empty sugar bowls. Lester’s eyes widened.

 

“I see,” he said.  
  
There was a brief pause.

  
“How are you going to make sure he gets it?” Lester enquired, torn between dread and fascination.

 

“Gets what, Sir James?” Lorraine said.

 

“I see,” Lester repeated. “Do ask someone to help you with the trays, won’t you.”

 

He took his seat for the meeting early, and watched as Lorraine stage-managed her colleagues into their seats. There was no difference between the two sugar bowls, or the two little jugs of milk, so Lester couldn’t be sure which was which; but as he watched her steer Theo Misselthwaite into an empty seat between Professor Cutter and Major Ryan, neither of whom took sugar in their coffee, and next to Sarah Page, who drank only villainous black tea, Lester thought he could make an educated guess. The ARC team were predictable, and had their own preferred spots: Stephen Hart liked to be opposite the professor, the better to kick him under the table, Major Ryan was always near the door for a quick getaway, Jenny tended to sit close enough to Lester to stamp on his foot if he became sarcastic, and Lorraine of course took a seat near the head of the table to manage the minutes. It wasn’t difficult to see how Lorraine could have created an empty space.

 

Theo Misselthwaite helped himself to what should have been a very sugary coffee and did not pass the Jaffa cakes. Lester began the meeting with his own general update.

 

About three minutes later, just as Lester was getting to the good bit, Theo Misselthwaite took a sip of his coffee, spat it across the table - directly into the face of the head of Legal - and set the mug down so hard it slopped over Dr Page’s notes.

 

“Fuck!” Dr Page exclaimed, pulling them out of the way. “What the hell -”

 

“It’s _salty_!” Theo Misselthwaite shouted. “There is salt in my coffee!”

 

Silence fell. Lester did not look at Lorraine.

 

“Well, don’t shout so loud,” said Ayesha, head of Legal, who combined a razor-sharp mind with exceptionally precise winged eyeliner and a stare that could strip flesh from the bone. She now had a coffee stain on her dove-grey hijab. “Everyone will want some.”

 

Misselthwaite spluttered.

 

“You only used the same sugar bowl as everyone else,” Abby said, sounding bored.

 

“I’m sure Mr Misselthwaite is mistaken,” Lester said. “Pour yourself another cup, apologise to Mrs Latif, and we can get on with things.”

 

“Someone deliberately put _salt_ in my _coffee_!” Misselthwaite yelled, as if repetition would secure him sympathy.

 

Danny Quinn sniggered. Connor rolled his eyes.

  
“Yeah, you said,” Major Ryan sighed. “Mine is fine.”

 

“So’s mine,” Professor Cutter said.

 

“I’m telling you -”

 

“You’ve already told us, lad,” Cutter interrupted, seized the cup, and took a large gulp.

 

Stephen Hart’s eyes widened. Lester did not allow his breath to catch. Sarah Page propped her chin on her fist and stared at Cutter.

  
“What’s the verdict, prof?” she said.

 

“Fine,” Cutter declared, banging the cup back down again and hoisting himself out of his seat to seize a thoughtfully-provided tea-towel. He handed it to the SpAd. “Totally normal coffee. Too damn sweet, but that’s your own business. Just clean up after yourself and apologise to Ayesha.”

 

“But,” said Misselthwaite.

 

“Oh, but what?” Cutter said, showing distinct signs of annoyance. “Get your tastebuds checked. There’s nothing wrong with your coffee.”

 

Misselthwaite apologised, red in the face and bug-eyed with mortification, and tidied up after himself.

 

After a suitable pause, the meeting resumed, and carried on as completely normal for the next two hours, during the course of which Lorraine drank two cups of ostentatiously sugared coffee under Misselthwaite’s fulminating gaze. Lester tried not to smile. He must have guessed by now that Lorraine was in some way responsible for many of the humiliations, large and small, that had been visited on him since he had been foolish enough to insult her abilities, but Lester had no doubt that he would never be able to prove any of it.

 

The meeting broke up without incident, except that when Jenny and Ayesha left, the two of them murmured together and Ayesha was heard to snort in an uncharacteristically inelegant manner. Jenny’s glance back over her shoulder was both very deliberate and highly amused.

 

 Misselthwaite stiffened, and turned to Lester as if he wanted to complain.

 

“Don’t let me detain you,” Lester said absently, pulling a trick from one of his son’s favourite book characters. “Miss Wickes, I would like you to investigate the raw numbers on that last quarterly report a little more extensively, I’m concerned about that trend in acquisitions.”

 

The trick worked as well for him as it did for Lord Vetinari. Misselthwaite departed hence.

 

 

 

Scarcely had the news of Misselthwaite’s coffee humiliation gone around the office when the anomaly alert went off with a piercing screech, followed within five minutes by a frantic call from the local police about several hungry juvenile allosaurus in a junkyard. The team ran for their kit and the cars, and Becker found himself confronted with Misselthwaite, jaw outthrust pugnaciously.

 

“What?” he snapped, conscious that this was an extremely public location to confront someone who had made a chunk of his adolescence a misery. Misselthwaite was between him and the armoury, in an extremely well-trafficked corridor full of science labs, and everyone was watching him.

 

“I’m going with you,” Misselthwaite said.

 

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Becker enquired.

 

“I’m required to observe the ARC’s running, that includes joining you in the field -”

 

“No it fucking doesn’t, Misselthwaite - not this time. You don’t understand how dangerous this is. Protecting you is a waste of my men’s time.” Becker shoved past him, but Misselthwaite grabbed him by the arm, and Becker was so surprised by the man’s stupidity that he stopped.

 

“You are obstructing me -”

 

“I’m obstructing you from getting yourself fucking well _killed_ , you stupid bastard.” Becker eyed Misselthwaite’s wrist, and wondered if the trouble he’d get into for breaking it would be worth it.

 

“You’re taking the girl and the computer geek! At least I can shoot.”

 

Becker’s vision went briefly red. He breathed through it until he was sure his brain was back in charge, then removed Misselthwaite’s hand forcibly from his arm, seized Misselthwaite by the collar and hauled him up onto his toes so that Becker could speak directly into his face without stooping. “ _Over my dead body_ will you get access to any kind of weapon in this facility - is that clear?”

 

Misselthwaite spluttered.

 

Becker twisted his collar and raised him another half-inch. “And Miss Maitland and Mr Temple are trained professionals who’ve saved my arse more times than I ever want to count. So if you talk about them like that again, you little shit, I will dump you in the Thames and leave you to fucking well drown, is that clear?”

 

Misselthwaite gasped, and there was a deliberate clatter at the other end of the corridor. Becker glanced at it, and saw Lyle, carrying Becker’s Mossberg as well as his own kit.

 

“I don’t have time for your bullshit,” Becker informed Misselthwaite. “Lives are hanging on us getting to this dinosaur-infested shithole in time.” He brought his face very close to Misselthwaite’s, another very real spark of anger running through him. “If anyone dies today, remember it was you who slowed us down.”

 

He dropped Misselthwaite, ignoring the spluttered breathing and attempts to yell at him, and ran to join Lyle.

 

“I’ll get you fired!” Misselthwaite shouted hoarsely, staggering to his feet.

 

“Burn in hell, you fucking shitheel,” Becker bawled, and did not bother to look back.

 

***

 

Thanks to Danny Quinn and his incurable love of a) ventilation shafts and b) gossip, Lester knew about Misselthwaite’s run-in with Becker well before a dishevelled SpAd struggled up to his office, wheezing with fury, and tried to lay a formal complaint against the soldier. His timing was poor. Lester had not had time to calm down.

 

“No,” Lester said comprehensively. “Your behaviour in trying to interfere with the team on their way to an incident which may involve considerable loss of life was unpardonable. I do not care how Captain Becker brought an end to your actions.”

 

Misselthwaite hissed like a kettle. Lester raised one bored hand, and cut off whatever it was he was about to say in its prime.

 

“We may well find an incident that is suitable for your attendance,” Lester said. “It is not this one. You will note that my agreement with your minister excludes you from taking part in any incident where there is a serious threat to life and limb. If you’d paid any attention to what we do, you would know that this is the kind of anomaly people die at. The fact that you didn’t realise that, or worse, did realise it and tried to interfere anyway, is damning.”

 

Misselthwaite had gone an unhealthy whey kind of colour; not because he was ill, but because he was genuinely shocked. Lester wondered how much he had expected to get away with.

 

“Throughout your time in this office you have insulted my staff, obstructed their work, misused official equipment, and even spat in the face of my colleagues,” Lester said. “You have shown yourself incapable of basic courtesy and you plainly cannot follow the simplest instructions. Please leave the office and reflect on your actions. I do not want to see you before nine o’clock tomorrow, and I do not want to hear a word out of you - or indeed about you - in the course of that day.”

 

He glared at Misselthwaite. “Thank God tomorrow is Friday.”

 

Misselthwaite got up and left.

 

***

 

Theo came into work the next day, and found that the ARC - previously noisy, chatty and an obvious hotbed of gossip - had gone weirdly quiet. Nobody would look at him or talk to him unless directly addressed. At first he thought it was because somebody actually had died the previous day, and felt like hell. But when asked, Lorraine Wickes looked at him with cool brown eyes and said that the policewoman in question had survived the most dangerous twelve hours post-operation and was expected to make a full recovery.

 

There was no way he was getting out of this without public shame, but at least no-one was dead because of him. Becker was exactly as much of a bitch as he had been at school, but Theo had no doubt that he had been totally sincere when he’d said he would blame Theo for any deaths.

 

Theo passed a silent morning, and was surprised to hear a knock on the office door immediately after the sounding of the anomaly alarm, and to see Lieutenant Lyle lounging in the doorway.

 

“Veggies on a golf course,” Lyle said briefly to Jenny Lewis and Lorraine Wickes.

 

“Probably no trouble.” He jerked his head at Theo. “Come on, then, if you want to see an anomaly in action.”

 

His voice was totally neutral, which was the best Theo could hope for. The minister’s certainly wouldn’t be when he heard about this past week.

 

Theo got up and followed Lyle out of the office.

 

Theo never understood later how he’d come to trip and fall face-first into a large pile of dinosaur dung; no-one was near him, and he was walking on the well-tended, softly undulating lawn of the golf course. He felt almost as if someone had shoved him, but that was ridiculous. Who would do such a thing? And who would have been able to sneak up on him to do it?

 

Witnesses, had they been at all inclined to discuss the matter, might have pointed out that Niall Richards was more than sneaky enough to have walked up quietly behind one inattentive SpAd and shoved him into a pile of poo. They might also have noted that Blade took a solicitous delight in hauling him out of the muck in such a way that caused more of it to smear across his T.M. Lewin suit, and that there was more than a little amusement in his impassive face as he hosed the man down with freezing cold water.

 

(“It’s March,” Ross said, out of Misselthwaite’s earshot. “He’ll fucking freeze.”

 

“He called Miss Wickes stupid,” Ditzy said. “It could have been a fuck of a lot worse.”  
  
Pause.

 

“And besides, do you fancy sitting in the car with him covered in shit?”)

 

Between the poo, the water, and the general spluttering, it took some time before Misselthwaite was able to pull himself together, wipe his face and actually look at the person who had subjected him to such rough treatment.

 

He wasn’t expecting to recognise the man, and for a second, he didn’t, but then the soldier looked him directly in the eye, and Misselthwaite added up the knives, the green eyes, the unnerving confidence, the cruel half-smile -

 

He’d heard a lot before he came to the ARC. Some of it from his fellow civil servants; some of it from soldiers. Some of it had been meant as a warning, and he’d assumed most of it was exaggerated. But when they talked about how Major Ryan had handpicked his original team, among them the brilliant killer Ryan kept closer than anyone outside Credenhill would have thought advisable, there was a chill in their words that he hadn’t been able to ignore. Only now did he connect it to the faint whispers he’d been hearing over the last two days, hastily cut off whenever he entered a room, about his foolishness in snapping too sharply at Lorraine Wickes, and _does he know what he’s doing, that psycho of hers will…_

 

_Well, if he’s lucky it’ll be the psycho that gets him…_

 

The half-smile wasn’t habitual. The man usually had no expression at all. Misselthwaite went cold all over and wondered what he was smiling at.

 

“I’ve heard of you,” he found himself saying. “They said I should watch out for you.”

 

“Maybe you should have taken them seriously,” Blade Richards said, level and amused and vaguely Yorkshire. “Sir.”

 

“That’s why I shouldn’t have tried to put Lorraine Wickes in her place,” Theo plunged on, unheeding. “That’s why - Everyone is scared of her because you’re her boyfriend.”

 

The smile dropped off Richards’ face. “You’re stupider than you look,” he said. “If you had to pick one of us to anger, it should have been me.”

 

Theo spluttered with nervous laughter. “You could _kill_ me.”

 

“So could she,” Richards said. “Difference is, I’d make it quick.”

 

A different trooper drove them back to the ARC. For some reason, the air conditioning right by Misselthwaite’s seat was broken. Stuck at full blast.

 

Misselthwaite, shivering, demanded to be allowed to change places.

 

Jenkins said apologetically that they couldn’t stop: the minister was waiting for them at the ARC.

 

“The minister?” Misselthwaite yelped. “What - mine?”

 

Jenkins nodded.

 

In the rear-view mirror, Misselthwaite could see Richards smiling.

 

***

 

“Do you think I was too hard on him?” Lorraine said, when they were at home, with a bottle of wine between them and a celebratory takeaway slowly digesting, a nature programme neither of them was paying much attention to on the TV.

 

Blade snorted eloquently. “No. How much of that did you arrange?”

 

“Some of it,” Lorraine said, and smiled as Blade chuckled, low and malicious.

 

“Did you have to burn a lot of favours?”

 

“One or two,” Lorraine said, topping up her glass and snuggling a little closer to her boyfriend. “Nothing too significant.”

 

“I shoved him into a pile of shit for you, just so you know.”  
  
“Extremely romantic.”  
  
“Reckoned you’d see it that way.” Blade put his drink down and hers, then pulled her into his lap and resettled her more comfortably. “You saw him arrive?”

 

“I did.” Lorraine felt a smile curve her lips. The sight of Theo Misselthwaite, sodden, stained and a shadow of his former self, climbing out of the car to face a furious minister, was one that would remain with her for a long time. Along with the yelling about his computer, and the stern lecture from IT about the porn, and his face with the coffee thing, and the broken badge, and Becker tearing a strip off him, and the shunning from the rest of the office, and, now Lorraine came to think of it, the frankly scabrous assessment of his worth and capabilities provided by Lester.

 

Her heart warmed at the very thought of it. She hoped Misselthwaite had seen her smiling.

 

“I told him he should be more scared of you than of me,” Blade said, resting his cheek against the top of her head. “So what’s the kicker?”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“The kicker,” Blade repeated. He kissed the shell of her ear. “I know you’ve left him another little surprise.”

 

“Oh, nothing much,” Lorraine said calmly.

 

“Lorraine…”

 

Lorraine preserved a dignified silence. Blade kissed the pulse point beneath her ear, and said _please_ very nicely.

 

“I worked alongside that minister, once,” Lorraine admitted. “When I was at Thames House. My boss and I got him out of some fairly serious trouble.”

 

“Sexy.”

 

Lorraine elbowed him. “Anyway. I just dropped Ned a line, expressing a little concern about his protégé’s professionalism and suggesting he might be suited to something a little less… key to national security. Hinting at, you know, some of the problems he’s had this week. Suggesting he may be ill, given the coffee incident. Raising a red flag about the inability to follow basic security protocols. I didn’t actually mention the porn thing, but I hinted delicately around it. It was already there, you know, Jess didn’t take advantage of anything he hadn’t already done. But Ned probably had no idea.”

 

Blade laughed. “What d’you think’ll happen?”

 

“Maybe something,” Lorraine said. “Maybe nothing. The important thing is that I don’t care. I won, and he knows it - or he will by the time Ned’s read his email.”

 

She twisted in Blade’s arms and caught his lips with her own, and forgot all about Theo Misselthwaite.

 


End file.
